


Aithusa Makes It Happen

by Itar94



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: AU, Arthur Finds Out, Crack, Episode Related, Humor, M/M, Magic Reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-22
Updated: 2012-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-12 16:11:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/493145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itar94/pseuds/Itar94
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwaine is observant, Aithusa just thinks they're all very silly and apparently the whole of Camelot ships the Prince with his Manservant. Like, seriously. But, then again, who is really surprised?</p>
<p>(AU of 4x04. Complete.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gwaine Sees It

**Author's Note:**

> _I wrote this fic back in January this year, before having an account here, and uploaded it at FF.net (under the same penname). It's not been beta-read, so I'm sorry about any mistakes, grammatical or otherwise.  
>  Revised in 2013-04-14._

It all starts with the egg.

It's but a mention, a short  _whisper_ , but suddenly, the whole of Camelot is on edge and awaiting their new young King's decision. Will he even make one regarding the egg? Will he attempt to find it or ignore its existence? Have it destroyed?

Gwaine is not a stupid man. Thus, he knows to back off when Arthur and his manservant have one of their arguments – or lovers' tiff which Gwaine usually calls them but he's glared down violently then. (If glares could leave bruises, the knight would by now be little more than a black and blue pulp).

Arthur has been quite sensitive all since his father's demise, but still, he's not shown the same kind of  _hatred_  towards magic as his father. No desire to behead at first sight. This, Gwaine takes as a good sign. A very good sign. Having grown up mostly travelling from town to town, often without plans of what to do or why, he's seen a lot of things – including magic. Both the good and the bad sort. He's not so naïve to think it's just a weapon only used for evil. He's stumbled upon half-decent sorcerers aiding farmers to get better crops and helping the ill and fragile after harsh winters.

If Arthur decides to follow his father's footsteps, continue with the ban of magic, the strain on this land will remain.

If he decides to act  _against_  the ban, lift it and welcome magic into Camelot, the city would prosper and be a haven for many. Gwaine knows his opinion isn't taken that seriously (yet) – he's not been that long in Camelot, and most people thinks he's a crazy drunkard. (Which he resents).

It comes down to this one thing: if Arthur decides to destroy the Dragon egg, Camelot is all done for regarding magic. Gwaine isn't sure he wants this. He's met people oppressed and frightened by Uther's rule, scarred by the Purge, hated for what they are. He's not sure he wants to live in a city where it's choked completely (plus he has a few suspicions about Merlin and his 'luck' and he loves the lad dearly; if it's proved Merlin has magic, what would Arthur do to him …?)

But, it starts with the egg. Arthur is even more on edge after finding out about it through Gaius, who in turn has heard rumours from people from afar, and figured out a lot himself. The young King is uncertain of what to do, what to say. Merlin, ever-loyal, is there with him, standing on his side, a mostly invisible support.

Most knights tend to forget servants and commoners, but not Arthur's knights, not the Knights of the Round Table. They are a tightly knotted group, brought to Camelot as if by fate, tied together by their wills, their loyalty to Camelot and each other and their fighting prowess. They may be knights, but there are also commoners, ordinary (and extraordinary) peasants among them: they stand with a foot in each world.

So Gwaine notices these little details about Merlin that others don't. Like how tense his back goes at the mention of magic, as if by fear or surprise; like the fire in his eyes as he speaks of Arthur, defending the man or insulting him or somewhere in-between; how easily without care he'd throw himself in the path of a spear to ensure his friends' and especially Arthur's safety. It's all about Arthur, always Arthur, forever Arthur –  _Maybe,_ Gwaine muses,  _it's destiny_. The thought is both far-fetched and ridiculous and a dangerous hit close to home all at once.

Thus, it doesn't come as a surprise to Gwaine when the young King and the servant begins to argue – another thing unheard of between other masters and servants – and it's not a small short argument either, but a long and complicated story. During this time, the city is almost boiling with tension: the pair refuse to look at each other or talk civilized; the King pouts a lot while Merlin have several sessions with either one of the knights, his mentor or Gwen where he hugs himself, calls Arthur a prat/dollophead/clotpole (or some other variation thereof) and receives lots of comforting hugs and maybe sheds an angry tear.

It takes exactly three days and eight hours (the knight mentally keeps count) for them to solve their fallout. All because of the mention of an egg.

"So, I've decided-" Arthur announces while gathering by the Round Table when the hearth is burning low and the candles have sunk and melted. Everyone are waiting on the edge of apprehension, leaning forward in their seats.

"You mean,  _we_ 've decided," Merlin interjects from his right.

"Right, fine.  _We_  –" (Insert a sharp look at manservant here. Gwaine hides a smug smile. Oh yes, the King is a prat and oblivious as  _always_.) "- have decided to find the dragon egg and protect it." Astonished silence meets his words: they all hold their breaths nervously. Did they hear that right? "It's the start of something new … a new time, of harmony and peace and that will require our harmony with magic as well."

"Sire," Leon asks hesitantly, "you mean to lift the ban on magic?"

A strangely tender expression fleets over the King's face, his eyes turned to the servant: it's almost as if he's not aware of it himself. "It'd be rushed to do it now at once, but it is my intention, yes."

Gwaine does not miss the joy mixed with relief and, for some reason,  _fear_  crossing Merlin's face, making him look like a hare caught in the headlights just for the split of a second. The knight wonders when they're going to find out exactly what their friend is hiding.

* * *

They travel for five days, across plains and through forests, past a little village full of fawning people and a meadow blossoming with flowers (Gwaine picked one and placed it behind Merlin's ear. Arthur was  _not_  amused.) and through a waterfall (Though it was cold Gwaine couldn't help flicking his hair, he felt quite sexy but the grumpy King ruined the mood). Finally, they had to overcome a number of traps which all (for some miraculous reason) malfunctioned and never managed to skewer them.

It must've been a stroke of good luck, albeit Merlin looks a little winded after the ordeal so Arthur makes sure to keep him close. He doesn't want the idiot fainting on them or something.

"Ooh," Gwaine says as they find it sitting on a pedestal. "It's very … egg-y."

It's kind of obvious – he can't believe he's travelled so much and missed a giant black tower in the middle of nowhere! (Maybe because it's magic, or maybe because there's no tavern nearby. Both reasons are logical.)

"Yes, and you have an  _astonishing_  sense of humour," Elyan says with a roll of eyes.

"Whatever," Arthur says tiredly, glaring at them both. The rest of the knights are staring at the egg in admiration. "Merlin, take care of that thing." He points at the egg, which Merlin carefully wraps in a piece of cloth and holds in his arms like it's made of glass: it's kind of bizarre to look at, Gwaine thinks, since the egg is a lot bigger than a hen's. Merlin's expression is that of a proud mother. (But that doesn't surprise anyone.) "Even if you're an idiot," the King adds, "the egg is in more capable hands with you than anyone else."

Merlin turns to Arthur with wide eyes and a jaw dropped in feigned astonishment: "Was that a  _compliment_?"

"You must've had something stuck in those ridiculous ears of yours that made you hear wrong." With a grunt, the King exits the large hall, not noticing (or pretending not to) the knights' snickers. And if he glances back and lets his eyes linger on his manservant, who's grinning like a loon, well; it's convenience.

* * *

Like a bolt of lightning from a clear blue sky, it hatches. The shell cracks and a tiny white head emerges, followed by a soft-scaled body, a pair of small folded wings and a tail.

Merlin holds out a hand carefully and the baby dragon moves closer, nibbling at his fingers curiously and allows the servant to gently pet him. It leans into the touch and, deciding it's safe and it likes it, the dragon crawls up in Merlin's lap, purring like a cat.

"It's beautiful," Percival breathes in awe.

Arthur doesn't hold the same opinion. "Ew, clean it off! It's covered with goo."

The dragon sticks out its tongue in the King's direction and Merlin chuckles, washing it off with a cloth. "Is Arthur a meanie?" he asks, ignoring Arthur's eyebrows climbing upwards at the use of the I'm-talking-to-a-cute-baby-voice. "Don't worry. He does like you, secretly, he just doesn't know how to say it, and you'll like him too in time. It just takes a while to warm up on him when he's a bigheaded prat-"

"Hey!"

The dragon nods at the servant like understanding what he's saying, thought that's ridiculous.

"Can I hold it?" Gwaine asks eagerly. That'd be awesome and surely something to tell his mates down at the pub.

_"No!"_

Everyone swirls to look at Arthur. Who quickly defends himself: "I mean. Ask Merlin for permission. Like I care." He turns his head away slightly to avoid meeting curious gazes.

Merlin looks like a worried mother, holding the dragon close to his chest and glancing between it and the knight hesitantly. "I don't know …" he murmurs. "What if, if you drop him or something?"

"I'll be  _super careful_ ," Gwaine assures him. "I promise."

"… Fine," the servant says, giving in and gently moves the baby dragon over into the knight's arms. The dragonling isn't distressed or anything Merlin is afraid it'll be: no, it's calm and playfully pats Gwaine's beard with a white paw.

"Look! He's got claws."

"It's male?" Arthur asks dumbly.

"Yes. Could I name him too?"

This time both Merlin and Arthur protests. Arthur because he's the King and doesn't want knights to name what's his (even if it's technically not his and he's not claiming it out loud: everyone just knows anyway). Merlin because he's the last Dragonlord (but doesn't claim that out loud either) and it's thanks to him the baby dragon hatched in the first place.

Gwaine gives in, and the right to name the white creature is (automatically) given to Merlin, who grins as if Yuletide has come early. "I'll call him Aithusa!"

"What the heck does that even mean?" Arthur asks incredulous. "Remind me to never let you name anything again."

After getting passed between the knights in turn for introductions – Arthur stubbornly refusing to hold it, stomping a foot in the ground – the baby dragon is placed in Merlin's arms by Percival, and even if it seemed happy with the knights, it immediately starts purring pleasedly, burying its face in the crook of the servant's arm. Merlin looks equally content, stroking the dragonling's back.

When Percival ruffles the manservant's hair and calls the pair cute, Arthur mutters something about firewood and stalks off into the woods.

Nobody is surprised. Leon suggests to Merlin he better hurry and explain to Arthur that no motive was behind Percival's touch, but the lad just looks confused: Gwaine feels a little sorry for hm.

* * *

Somewhere along the line, Merlin lets it slip that he can talk to dragons.

It's a complete accident. Honestly. He'd not  _meant_  to out himself. The words just fall over his tongue as naturally as ever: the men freeze up (Percival dropping his bowl of stew) and looks at him with wide eyes, like he's grown a second head.

Merlin cocks his head. "What?"

He'd just asked Aithusa if he'd like some more meat!

Out loud. In Dragon Tongue.

Oh drat.

This, of course, leads to raised eyebrows and demands a show that he really talks the language of dragons and, when Merlin sighs and turns to Aithusa talking gibberish in a low voice, Arthur shifts uncomfortably. When did he find Merlin's voice so … attractive? The dragonling kind of smiles at him and responds with a chirrup, turning and bringing back a nearby stick. A game of fetch ensues.

Gwaine's curiousity is sparked (again). "Could you teach me?" he asks eagerly.

Arthur silences him with a glare. "No. He's not going to teach you. If Merlin's going to teach anyone to talk with dragons it's his King, period."

"You mean his prat," Leon says cheerfully and, used such treatment, does not cower under the King's sharp gaze.

Albeit impressed by this unexpected ability, questions follow thereafter: "Where did you learn doing that?" and "Why?" among others and Merlin's walls break down around him and he launches into a story about Dragonlords and fathers and Arthur doesn't know if he should be amused or horrified or cry at the pain, the misery his friend has been through in silence: he's shocked at how strong his manservant has been all this time, hiding in the dark ...

In the end though, after a heated discussion, the knights and King swear to aid Merlin and keep this a secret.  _Their_  secret.

Gwaine could swear he's never seen such happiness or relief on Merlin's face before, which is saying something; Merlin is usually like an open book.

* * *

"Is there any particular reason," asks Gwaine casually, three weeks after Aithusa's arrival at Camelot, "that that thing keeps following you around?" He eyes the dragonling whose tail has wrapped around the warlock's leg protectively.

"Aithusa is not a 'thing'," Merlin says, sounding upset.

"Why is  _he_  following you around and baring his teeth whenever anyone who isn't Arthur steps too close?"

"He thinks I'm his … parent or something, since I've cared for him all this time and am a Dragonlord and all. Isn't that right, Aithusa sweetie?" Merlin squats down and pets the dragonling's head, and the white creature makes a pleased noise, leaning into the touch. "You're like me 'cause I'm special."

"Or because you're not a prat unlike  _some people_ ," Gwaine adds gleefully, taking a bite off one of his apples. It's a green one: a favorite.

"Hey! I take offence to that," a voice echoes down the hallway, and warlock and knights looks up to see an approaching King, his red long cloak billowing behind him. "Merlin! I've been looking for you and, aren't I happy to see you don't seem to have  _anything_  to do." An unimpressed glance is sent at Gwaine, who returns it with a completely innocent look.

"Well, actually –" Merlin begins to say, because truly Gaius has asked (or demanded more like) him to run an errand down in the lower town, gather some herbs and then he's got to muck out the stables, and in an hour Aithusa will need to get fed again.

"So you might as well use your time and clean my room, scrub the floors and clean the windows and sort my wardrobe and, while you're at it, go to the tailor's and order me a new jacket, a red one. With studs. I can't seem to find my old one. Go on, tend to your duties."

And with that Arthur sweeps away, all glamour and handsomeness and completely ignoring Merlin's gnashing teeth (and hiding a smile at this), off to some important meeting or another. Gwaine grins smugly when Aithusa glares after the King heatedly, like the baby dragon knew what the King was saying or at least that the words implied lots of unwanted work for the Dragonlord. Despite it, Aithusa doesn't move to pounce on the man (unlike two days ago, during that incident with a visiting dignitary who'd gotten a bit too close to Merlin. The man will likely have lasting scars for the rest of his life. Gwaine actually feels a bit sorry for the guy).

"See, what'd I tell you," the knight says, aiming an apple core at the King's back.

"And that includes you,  _sir_  Gwaine!" Arthur shouts over his shoulder.

"Oh darn."

He absolutely loathes extra guard duty. It's not even by the gates, where he can watch the pretty ladies, but up in a deserted tower somewhere nobody passes except one or two old weird councilors pacing back and forth, ranting about taxes and ringing little bells; it's kind of creepy. Hopefully though Merlin will drop by with a sandwich for lunch and Aithusa for company. Gwaine is really starting to like the little fellow and is certain that if they were able to communicate, they'd have a lot in common. If only Aithusa would stop baring his teeth and snarl at him (and everyone that isn't Arthur).


	2. The People Knows It

Little can rattle the inhabitants of Camelot anymore. They've had their fair share of sorcerers both good and bad, of magical creatures of all shapes and sizes, of rampant kings, angry druids, peaceful druids, stuck-up princes and wrestling with wyverns.

Over the years, they have seen the initially arrogant, selfish and overall unpleasant prince turn into a strong warrior, a man firm in his belief of his people's worth and a just regent. When he finally becomes King, cheers echoes through the streets.

Lately though, the streets have been tense and silent. The King might not be aware of just how far and deep he affects his city. When his mood drops it's like a dark sheet abruptly falls over the city, chokingly.

"One of their tiffs, huh?" asks Gregory the Guard when exchanging shifts with another armoured man.

The other man nods; "Yeah. I could hear them yelling and jabbering like old wives from a mile off."

Gregory sighs. Last time had been  _awful_. The King had walked about constantly frowning and/or pouting, complaining about his unwashed clothes, cold food, rusty armour, suddenly off-balance sword and the dusty chambers he could swear hadn't been properly scrubbed in at least a week. And about his idiot manservant this and his idiot manservant that, and his  _idiot manservant_  most of all.

After a while, people had learned to simply tune out though goblets had been thrown and tantrums echoed down the halls. And since the King is very …  _adamant_  … he also had sternly refused to apologize for whatever had happened.

Rumours still ran wild about exactly that argument had been about. Some say the King had been overly insensitive in regards of his manservant's feelings. Others say he'd broken his manservant's toes and almost pushed him down a stair (by mistake, or maybe when they were trying to get at it and one of them stumbled, but opinions divides here). Another, even more incredulous in Gregory's opinion, rumour says that the manservant had found the King going it at with some maidservant and it'd broken his poor heart, but Gregory has been around for awhile. He can discern false rumours from the truth: and beneath that harsh shell, King Arthur is a good and faithful man, and one has to be blind not to notice the looks he sends across the council hall.

Anyway, he's just a citadel guard; his opinion matters little in the whole.

"I just hope it'll end soon," sighs his companion. "At this rate they might turn the whole castle into shreds and the knights will flee for Bayard's kingdom and we'll have recruit new guards in the western wing."

Gregory understands very well why they'd fled. "Yeah. Me too." He needs something to distract him from all this chaos. "What about meeting later in the tavern over a game of dice?"

* * *

"Have you heard? They're going to find the dragon egg!" murmurs the kitchen aide excitedly to her friend the scullery maid, who passes the word on to the stable boy, who passes the word on to some lord's manservant, who passes the word on to a merchant, who passes the word on to the rest of the world (well not all of it, or at once, that'd be too complicated). "They're taking the dragon egg back to Camelot! Just wait, next they'll be inviting druids!"

And what the people initially thinks of this discussed over dinners and chores and when buying turnips on the market. As the King rides out of the city gates, closely followed by his loyal manservant and his Knights of the Round Table (whether there really is a Round Table is another favourite discussion on the market) the whole city is buzzing with anticipation.

* * *

The King's return is celebrated heartily.

The little dragon, who is a lot smaller and well, more  _adorable_  than the people had expected it to be, smells and nudges at everything and everyone like a curious puppy, much to the amusement of the people and the annoyance of a very concerned manservant.

"What if he falls and hurts himself or something!" Sara the Cook overhears the King's manservant say to Sir Leon.

"Don't worry, Merlin," the knight responds, "there are people looking after him everywhere. He won't get hurt."

It takes several concurring voices hurrying to reassure the lad that, yes, the knight is right, no harm will come to the dragonling, and a couple of cookies to coax the manservant out of the kitchen doors so he can bring the King his (over an hour late) lunch.

* * *

"Good morning, sire," Gregory greets the King and nods his head as he passes by.

It's kind of strange but no unpleasant. King Uther had wanted guards and knights to be unseen and unheard so not to bother him: King Arthur waves at everyone in greeting. It's very different indeed, but Gregory isn't a man of complaint. He adds a smile and a warm "Good morning, Merlin!" at seeing the very tired-looking manservant trailing behind the king, followed by a baby dragon. The creature has grown, the guard notes: it now reaches above the man's knees. And its claws looks very sharp and it regards everyone save for the King with distrust, nostrils flaring, as soon as anyone attempts nearing the manservant.

The King is a flurry of red and silver, but there are dark rings beneath his eyes and his manservant also looks exhausted. Gregory offers a sympathetic smile. Child rearing always sounds so much easier than it actually  _is._

* * *

Merlin's outing himself as magic isn't, opposed to outing himself as being the last Dragonlord, an accident. It's very much on purpose.

A couple of weeks into Aithusa's stay at Camelot, good things have begun to happen: travelers from far and wide have come to see the rare white dragon. Word flies across the lands of how great the Kingdom of Camelot has become, how powerful it must be to have gained such a mysterious creature as its ally and like flies drawn to a spotlight, mercenaries fills the streets and foreign kings seek alliance with the city's King and noblemen and commoners alike plead to be tested for Knighthood under his name. It's all good and well.

Arthur is shocked how well accepted the dragon is. And the word 'magic' ceases to be spoken with fear. In fact even the oldest, sternest councilors are now beginning to look at him expectantly, waiting for the next big step to be taken.

Most people think the King should have seen this coming.

Two months after bringing the dragonling to the city, King Arthur proclaims that the ban on magic is to be lifted. Any crimes used with the aid of magic will still be punished, just as if the crimes had been committed  _without_  magic, but sorcerers will no longer be shunned or executed for the craft they possess, for their very existence.

So, when Merlin outs himself, Arthur shouldn't be surprised: hasn't he noticed a thing over the last few years? Is he completely blind?

Really, he shouldn't even have  _raised an eyebrow._

But he does, and then some, when Merlin looks apologetic but hopefully and his eyes glow gold and he opens his palm, letting some gold butterflies fly off. In front of a hall full of courtiers, knights and ordinary people: total strangers and friends and family and  _everyone_.

* * *

Merlin is an idiot. An idiot with golden eyes and a dragon cuddling his feet.

Arthur struggles to breathe. To make sense of the world. It's kind of difficult.

"You – you have  _magic!"_

The reply is weak, frail. "Yes," Merlin whispers, suddenly looking small and scared and Aithusa presses himself reassuringly against the servant's leg, as if to support him. "Yes."

"Are you  _mad_?" exclaims Arthur, standing up from his throne and walking up to him. "Are you completely  _out of your mind?_  If you're magic you should've sought cover someplace else, not go to the kingdom where you'd be prosecuted! You really have  _no_ sense of self-preservation do you? Of course not. I should have known. All the odd things happening around you – around  _me_  as of late …" The King's eyes narrow all of a sudden and there's a change of tone in his voice. "It was you wasn't it? The Questing beast's demise, the defeat of the Great Dragon, the Griffin. All of it! It was _you!"_

He's now standing right in front of Merlin, his hands on both of his shoulders, shaking him:  _Idiot, idiot!_

"Err. Yes," Merlin responds awkwardly and avoids looking at him, cheeks pink. (it's a rather lovely colour, Arthur's mind supplies. "That was me (all that and then some)."

Breath is knocked out the warlock's lungs as the King wraps his arms around him in a very manly hug. So what if he might bury his face in Merlin's neck a little too long and breathe his scent deeply and let his hand linger in his soft, dark hair.

"Seems like a new position is in order then!" the King exclaims merrily as he breaks the embrace, Merlin staring at him in complete shock, and he turns to his subjects: "People of Camelot, do you accept this bumbling fool as your Court Sorcerer?"

"Warlock. The correct term is warlock," the still-in-shock (former) manservant mutters into the King's neck.

Arthur feels the voice brush against his cheek (annoyed but warm, loving, in some way kind of wonderful) and his lips quirks upward in a small smile; but the words drowns in the sound of a hundred voices ringing as one in the great hall as the people replies, without hesitation - " **Yea!** "

* * *

Camelot responds with no protests when the King lets his mother's old throne be dusted off and placed next to his own. And the city fills with joy when the Court Sorcerer  _(Warlock!)_  is seated upon it, a white dragon purring by the pair's feet, the King holding the former manservant's hand.

Gregory the Guard decides it best not to report to the Court Warlock/Dragonlord/Queen that he's spotted the little dragon in the company of a certain knight down the Rising Sun, not until next morning; it might ruin the mood.


	3. And Aithusa Makes It Happen

Humans are very odd creatures.

Aithusa decides this during an early stage in his life, more precisely on the way to Camelot three days after emerging from his egg.

Before hatching, he's grown up to voices, humming from ages away, quietly making their way through the shell of his egg, blanketing him in security. Through the old voices of his forefathers, he's learned many a thing. Of the turning of the world and changing of the seasons and the colour of the sky, before he'd gotten a taste of what colour really is. However, he's not heard much about humans.

First off, they're very different from one another, some tall and bulky, others short and muscled. They have different colourings and strange growth on their heads (and sometimes on their faces), some dark brown, others different shades of yellow. They also must be very prone to cold since they wear diverse kinds of things on their bodies, red and brown and blue and other various combinations, which isn't skin, keeping themselves hidden all of the time. And out of this group, all but one prefers metal – maybe it's some kind of marking of their status? Maybe they're alphas? But that makes little sense, four alphas in a group of five! Aithusa's got to straighten that out, later.

And then there's the tall, pale lanky human, whom Aithusa likes most. He can feel the power beneath the young human's hands as he's picked up and held against a solid, warm chest: it's quite ridiculous, being cradled like that, because Aithusa is nowhere near as fragile as most other newborns. He can almost breathe fire and nearly fly and already do magic, after all! He's a  _dragon!_

But he consents it. It is rather nice, and he feels safe and happy in the Warlock's presence. Aithusa acknowledges him as his Dragonlord by nuzzling his neck and his Dragonlord smiles and pets him as if the dragonling was his own hatchling, and in a sense, Aithusa is.

There's this other human, who also stands out from the rest: there's a hum of magic in him as well, not as strong or as noticeable, and Aithusa wonders if the human even knows it's there.

Anyway, this other human – with golden hair and a firm, warm tone as he speaks (clearly an alpha) – doesn't seem to like when Aithusa crawls to settle in his Dragonlord's lap in front of the campfire in the evening; the man looks at the dragonling with fire in his eyes. But he doesn't verbally scold the baby dragon for being there or approach the matter directly, just generally looks displeased at the Dragonlord's behaviour, especially when the Dragonlord's eyes shine as he strokes the dragonling's back. Aithusa thinks the golden human is acting pretty silly. If he wants to lie in the Dragonlord's lap instead of Aithusa, he should just say so and make his claim (or share): instead he wanders off sulking.

It's probably a human trait.

* * *

The first day after hatching, Aithusa drinks the sounds and sights and smells: the forest they wander through, the open fields, the river they pause beside to have a drink; the odd group of humans and himself. He stretches his wings but they cannot bear his weight yet, which is disappointing. How many days will it take until he's grown big and strong like the Great Dragon which his Dragonlord has mentioned? Not too long, hopefully. He really, really wants to fly.

The second day, he focuses on the noises the humans make, to make sense of them. The language of humans is very difficult, all jumbled together and garbled at the edges, whereas Dragon tongue is perfectly clear and understandable.

His Dragonlord often speaks to him in the more pleasant Dragon tongue, petting his head and offering him strips of meat. It makes Aithusa very happy when his Dragonlord cares for him. This way he learns a lot more about humans, and that his Dragonlord's name is Merlin, and that Merlin would prefer being called Merlin instead of Dragonlord. Aithusa also learns that his Dragonlord has lots of other names as well – some are pleasant on his tongue, like they fit there  _(Emrys_ ) and others not – and he wonders if all humans have many names or if only the special ones have.

Unfortunately, the rest of the humans don't understand Dragon tongue at all and just chuckle (that odd sound at the back of the throat) and shake their heads at the pair, and the golden one scowls a lot again when seeing how much time Merlin spends speaking to the dragonling. The man stalks off into the woods muttering in a dark voice. Aithusa thinks him to be both amusing and annoying and very silly indeed.

Talking is what ties the group together, at day as they ride through the forest and at night as they huddle together in front of the fire. Especially the one with longer brown hair (which he flicks in a certain motion on a regular basis) likes doing it. Whatever he's saying must be amusing, since the other knights laughs a lot. A couple of them are more serious and quiet. Aithusa senses they're a bit worried, perhaps about their soon arrival in Camelot.

Merlin has explained about them going back to the city, where they're going to raise Aithusa till he's a strong full grown dragon – and, Merlin assured him, if the King is too much of a prat to agree to the raising-part, Merlin will take it upon himself. Aithusa is glad. And he's finally learned that the golden human, who also is King of Camelot, is named Arthur.

It all makes  _a lot_  more sense now.

But the humans don't see it, obviously, if their behaviour is anything to go by. The prophecy cannot be fulfilled, not properly at least, if they keep going like this: Arthur pouting in the background and Merlin petting Aithusa's head, at a distance calling the King a prat (even if the King is one, but that's beside the point) and avoiding each other like this.

* * *

When Aithusa decides that he's had enough of having Merlin cuddling him into obliviousness and Arthur going about glaring and sulking and on edge, the dragonling sneaks off his Dragonlord's lap and nudges the King's calf: the King is lying on his back near the dying embers of the fire, eyes closed. Aithusa wishes he could talk Human tongue. It'd make this a whole lot easier.

The King doesn't get it, of course. He just briskly orders the dragon to go to sleep (or just go away and leave him alone) and turns over on his side, wrapped tightly in a blanket. Aithusa claws at the blanket trying to pull it off the human and wake him; he's swatted away, but there's no further reaction.

Merlin is tending to the fire, oblivious, poking it with a stick. "What are you doing, Aithusa?" he asks, glancing at the dragonling. "Stop doing that, Arthur is a complete dollophead in the mornings if he's not had any sleep. Come here. It's past bed time for you." He pats the blanket arranged for the baby dragon (nevermind that the magic fire in Aithusa's belly keeps him warm anyway).

Aithusa frowns at the golden human's back. This is going to be more of an obstacle than he originally thought.

* * *

Camelot is very big and white and loud. And it's got lots and lots of humans of all sizes and kinds and colours. Some are dark and tanned by the sun; others are small and gray and wrinkled. The littlest ones like patting Aithusa's back and wings as they walk through the city but it's tiresome after a while, and the dragonling sneaks into his Dragonlord's pack for shelter, where he conveniently also finds some apples and a piece of meat that vanish quickly thereafter.

The first few weeks pass by in a hurry. Aithusa gets to learn some other nice people, apart from the Knights – he especially likes Gwaine, now when he understands enough of Human tongue to get the jokes – such as the handmaid Gwen and the old physician Gaius. Now, Aithusa cannot really understand what the physician does, really, but it's quite interesting to watch all those bubbly potions in the cauldrons. Maybe it's some kind of human food. They do all kind of things with it before eating, chopping it and mixing it and seemingly unable to enjoy a fine simple piece of meat without first putting it over a fire; they're all very picky – so it seems logical.

Everything is going well, on all fronts save for one (he can eat and sleep and learn as much as he wants, and he's even begun breathing fire, but his flying skills could improve): Aithusa has kept a close eye on the King and his Dragonlord, and seen no changes whatsoever from his first day after hatchling: It's all very strange. It's  _obvious_ they're made for each other! The prophecy makes it all clear, and they fit nicely together side by side, and Aithusa can feel their magic being drawn to one another like no other. They should have mated months ago. But they haven't made indications they're about to, even.

So, the dragonling does his best patiently dropping hints everywhere he can. It's tricky with the King. Arthur just blinks at him and pats his head awkwardly, before offering him lots of food if Aithusa still lingers on his desk atop all his paperwork. Silly human. No magicking doors locked when only the two of them are in the same room seem to work properly. (The Dragonlord just stutters something awkward and magicks the door open behind Arthur's back and flees; and when they meet up a few hours later the King is back to being a prat and they are far apart, heads turned in the other direction, faces constantly turning into various shades of red.)

Are all humans this difficult? That couldn't possibly be it! If this was the case, the humans wouldn't be so many and crowded all of the time.

With Merlin it is (slightly) easier, speaking the Dragon tongue. His Dragonlord grows red and hot in the face whenever Aithusa pointedly tells him he should mate with the King soon; it would make them all happier and help them fulfill the prophecy. At least Merlin understands Aithusa's point, but still make flimsy excuses, some of which the dragonling doesn't fully understand: something about status differences and Arthur not able to  _possibly_  be interested and a sudden need to polish armour/muck out stables (the latter is especially confusing).

* * *

Maybe they're not in heat? This could pose a  _real_  problem.

Aithusa seeks out Gaius' counsel, for since the man is old he must have knowledge of these things, and he's read enough books to know Dragon Tongue in a decent manner.

The human is bemused, for some reason Aithusa cannot fathom since this is Serious Business and all. It takes some persuasion to get him talking. No, the problem is not that, the physician explains, there are no cycles of heat to worry about here, there's no limit to that. No, the problem is the pair is both very stubborn, and not sure of the other's intentions and both completely oblivious to the other's attraction.

The dragonling decides to take things completely in his paws, and not act from the shadows and wait around. This whole thing is getting ridiculous, really.

As he's approached, Arthur looks mildly perplexed. "What is it now? I'm busy with paperwork," says the King and the dragonling frowns at him. He still can't speak Human tongue, though he understands it. "Are you hungry again? You had a steak merely two candle-marks ago!"

The dragonling makes a gesture with his tail toward the Warlock who is making the bed.

Arthur makes no sign of understanding.

Aithusa continues using his tail making gestures, as intimate as possible but Arthur still continues to look at him blankly. Finally, Aithusa projects a thought into the King's mind:  _Get a move on and mate with my Dragonlord already!_

The King just stares at him mouth agape. No wonder his Dragonlord constantly complains about the man's praheadedness!

Annoyed now – maybe the human is slow – the dragonling tugs at the King's boot and, after some bewildering moments, the human finally seems to get it and stumbles in the Warlock's direction, suddenly a lot less certain and more shy than Aithusa has previously seen him. Probably another human trait.

At seeing their stillness, the dragonling grips the carpet and makes it disappear beneath the humans' feet, making them fall onto the bed, the King atop the Warlock. They stutter and grow red. They awkwardly tries to untangle from the sheets, however, fate wouldn't have it that way. If mating is this excruciating a process for all humans, it's a wonder there's so many of them!

It takes some time before either dares make a move, the awkwardness falling away and being replaced by eagerness, wanton, desire. The kiss is wet and eager and they make noises, some of which makes Aithusa slightly uncomfortable and when seeing them shed their clothing, the dragonling gives them privacy and rejoins Gaius in the physician's chamber.

He settles next to some cauldrons, where he proudly announces that the King and his Dragonlord finally have come around to mating.

The physician's expression is rather comical.

* * *

The following morning, Aithusa is pleased to find the King and his Dragonlord lying in the King's bed together, hands and legs entwined, sharing warm glances and loving smiles, and other such things that mates does. The King's arm is possessive around Merlin's waist, as it should be.

Arthur smiles at the dragonling for the first time and says, "He might not so bad, that thing, after all."

Aithusa chirrups approvingly. The King of Camelot might not be that much of a prat, after all.

* * *

Within the same month, there's a pretty ceremony with lots of flowers (especially white and blue ones cause Merlin likes them) and holding hands and Aithusa is amused with the human's frenzy of such a complicated ritual. Especially since they've already mated and everything. Well, if it makes them happy and keeps them together, Aithusa's happy.

When seeing sir Gwaine observing the pair exchanging vows with a smug grin on his face, Aithusa approaches.

"It's about bloody time."

Gwaine turns to look at the source of the unfamiliar voice and promptly chokes on his apple. The dragon looks at him amused and settles on the man's shoulder, surprisingly heavy.

The shock quickly turns into delight though. "You can talk!" the man exclaims, clapping his hands. "That's awesome!"

"Of course I can talk," Aithusa deadpans, rolling his eyes. "Human tongue might be jumbled and tricky but no way impossible to learn."

"This is great!" Gwaine says. "Another fellow shipper to talk to! We've got meetings Sundays and Wednesdays …

Aithusa hums thoughtfully, the sound deep in his throat. "So  _that's_  where the Old Physician was off to …"

And this is the bright beginning of a great friendship, but Merlin does not approve when Gwaine attempts to drag his baby dragon to the tavern. That's just one step too far. Naturally, Aithusa just thinks his Dragonlord is being silly. He could  _bet_  that Grandfather Kilgarrah has never told Merlin a thing about baby dragons, how they grow or about their favouring of mead - just some gibberish about moon and suns and coins.


End file.
